


Downtime

by mrhearse



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, Gerard is the band's merch guy, Hand Jobs, M/M, Touring, Van Days, Vegan Frank, they smoke weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhearse/pseuds/mrhearse
Summary: So maybe Gerard was following this band around.He wasn't a groupie. His brother was in the band. So that meant he was supporting his brother's dream, if anyone asked. Not a groupie. He also did the band's merch artwork. He made stensils and bought paint and worked the merch booth at their shows. So he was maybe more of a roadie. A part of the “artistic team”. He was definitely not a groupie. The fact that he had a massive fucking crush on the rhythm guitarist slash singer had nothing to do with it.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	Downtime

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little wholesome something to cleanse my palate. Hope you like it :)

Touring. It's everything a guy could ever wish for. Being cramped in a van with four other dudes for weeks on end, shower opportunities scarce at best, smoking weed and drinking beer and getting your brains blown out from standing too close to the speakers in the venues. Trying to find a time and place to jack off in peace in between driving on highways and truck stops and gas stations and venues. Even though it was mostly awful, Gerard loved it more than anything.

Mikey's band had been picked up by some indie label, and invited to come on tour along with another band on the label. They had scraped together enough money between the five of them, as well as with a humble donation from the label, to buy a shitty van, that was now their new home. The tour was going great, they played two shows in every city, and the venues sometimes let them throw parties there after the sets were done. It was fucking _awesome_.

*

Gerard was peering into the camping cooler box where Frank kept all his food, looking for the ingredients he needed to make his sandwich. He'd developed a ridiculous addiction to vegan meat substitute products over the course of the past three weeks, all thanks to having made a habit of having late night burgers with Frank after every post-show party, when they were both drunk and starving, and stumbling into some 24-hour-open diner, hanging off of each other and giggling like maniacs. When Frank ordered, he'd always order two vegan. Gerard had just let him do it, and after a while, he's started ordering it for himself on his own, partly in solidarity with Frank, and partly because he just really liked the taste, once he'd gotten used to the almost-meat-like-but-not-quite taste of it.

Gerard knew Frank would probably find out at some point that he was stealing his mayo and bacon, but he couldn't resist. If he just took little bits at a time, Frank hopefully wouldn't notice. He'd been pretty stealthy in the past week or so. Frank didn't have to know. Gerard could totally keep doing this indefinitely, or until his addiction wore off. If he didn't get fucking caught red handed. The door to his left swung open.

“I _knew_ it!”

Gerard's head snapped around to find Frank pointing a menacing, accusing finger at him through the van door. Gerard tried giving him his best _Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout_ face, but to no avail. “I fucking _knew_ you were the one stealing all my shit, _dammit_ , Gerard!”

Gerard just shot him a guilty grin, not even putting the lid back on the box. There was no use pretending. Frank had seen everything. He hoped that maybe his charming smile and good looks would make Frank consider not ending his existence. From the look on Frank's face, that prospect didn't look too promising.

Frank stared incredulously at him. “Dick. You owe me.” He got into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Gerard briefly saw his life flash before his eyes, he was too young to die, and to die _here_ , in a fucking disgusting van full of empty beer cans and cigarette butts and crusty, smelly clothes and tons of white takeout boxes. He guessed it was what he deserved.

Frank sat down next to Gerard and started rummaging around in the cooler. “Did you leave any for me at all?” he said in an annoyed tone.

“It's all those burgers, man. They've changed me. Or, you've infected me, or something. The vegan mayo is so much better,” Gerard tried to explain. Frank shot him a look.

“It _is_. It's also really _expensive_. So if you're gonna keep digging into my stash like you've been so rudely doing for days now,” he was opening a pack of cheese and putting a slice on a piece of bread, “you better fuckin' cash in. We split, or you get nothing.” He dropped the pack of cheese back into the cooler.

“You know, you're really lucky you're so pretty. Or I would bash your face in,” Frank added matter of factly. His easy tone somehow just made it more threatening. So his good looks _had_ saved him from dying at Frank's hands, after all. Gerard tried not to blush. Frank had called him _pretty_. He probably shouldn't think too much about that. Except, he was totally going to think about it. A _lot_. Frank thought he was _pretty_.

Frank sat back against the side of the van, taking a bite out of his sandwich and considering Gerard through narrowed eyes. He nodded towards the cooler.

“Dude. Take what you were gonna take and close the fuckin' lid,” he kicked the side of Gerard's thigh, _almost_ gently, with his sneaker. “Vegan food is hard enough to come by as it is out here, the last thing I need is for it go bad.”

Gerard gave him a sheepish look and rummaged around in the cooler, made his sanwich and then put the lid back on the box, securing the latch. He leaned against the opposite side of the car and stretched out his legs next to Frank, crossing them on top of a pile of black t-shirts.

“So what're you working on right now?” Frank asked around a mouthful of bread and vegan cheese. “Are you done with the grim reaper prints?”

Gerard shook his head, with his mouth full of fake bacon and lettuce. “No, not yet. Think I'm doing an all-nighter tonight to get them done, and then I can sleep in the car tomorrow when we're on the road.”

Frank nodded. “Oh cool,” he said, the sound muffled by the food he wasn't done chewing. “You wah 'elp?”

Gerard smiled. “Yeah, I'd like that.” Frank nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Then, eyeing the open box of t-shirts next to him, he asked, “What'appened to the zombies?”

Gerard wiped a bit of stray mayo off his jacket before answering. “It turned out a little too complicated for a print. Too many details, so I dropped it.”

Frank chewed thoughtfully. “Aw, I really liked that one. It kind of looked like some sort of fucked up parade or something. I would totally wear that.” He stuffed the rest of his bread into his already full mouth.

“Maybe we can make it into a poster or something,” Gerard offered, thinking aloud. Frank nodded enthusiastically at him, thankfully not attempting to speak, just concentrating on chewing, but definitely making wide eyes at him to wordlessly yell _YES_. Gerard got the point.

*

They were playing a show in some dive bar that had a small stage at the back. There weren't a ton of people watching their set tonight, it was one of those nights where most people come sauntering in when the headlining band came on. It didn't matter. It was a good show. Gerard was sat on a bar stool on the side of the stage, beer in hand, and watching the guys play songs that he'd heard a million times before. Mostly, he was watching Frank, who was getting closer and closer to the floor with every song. Gerard couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried, and he didn't want to; he looked at Frank's sweaty hair clinging to his face, at how he finally gave in to the invisible force that seemed to be pulling him down, and just dropped onto his back on the sticky floor, still playing like he was possessed by the spirit of punk rock itself.

Gerard caught Mikey looking over at him, and held his beer up in salute, grinning. The drummer kicked right into the next song without even stopping, and Gerard just let the vibrations of the crunchy guitars and the rythimc bass seep into his skin. It was a really good night.

*

“Hey. Check this out,” Gerard looked up from his sketchbook to find Frank leaning against the side of the car, grinning down at him through the open window. He was holding up a small plastic bag with something green-ish in it.

Fucking Frank. He always had his ways. Gerard had no idea what town they were even in, and there was nothing else nearby other than the parking lot and a gas station down the road. Maybe Frank had walked all the way down to the strangely placed 7-Eleven they had passed a while back.

It was a million fucking degrees out; that's why Gerard was sprawled out inside the van with all the windows open, sweating through his already dirty t-shirt, blasting Slayer and sketching out more ideas for pins and patches they were going to sell at the booth in Chicago. Maybe the inside of the van wasn't really the best place to be if he wanted to avoid dying of heat stroke; even though they were parked in the shadow under some big trees at the corner of the lot, it was fucking boiling inside the car, but there was nowhere else to hang out. They were on the outskirts of some middle-of-nowhere shit town. The others were out fucking off somewhere, Gerard didn't know where. Mikey had texted him something about paint ball about an hour ago, but he didn't at all feel like moving, so he had just texted back that he was watching the van. How Frank, or any of the others, had willingly gone outside in the sunlight was beyond him. Maybe Frank was just extra perseverant when it came to acquiring weed. He had his ridiculous, huge sunglasses on, and Gerard couldn't see his eyes, but he was grinning with his entire body, practically vibrating. Or maybe that was Gerard. His head felt half-cooked by the heat already, and looking at Frank smiling easily down at him wasn't helping.

“Motherfucker,” Gerard said over the guitars crunching out of the surprisingly not-shitty car speakers. “Get in here.”

Frank didn't need to be told twice. He slid into the van, not bothering to close the door. Any potential brush of fresh air was welcome in the hot car. Frank plopped down on the floor, setting himself against the opposite wall and started digging his tobacco and rolling paper out of his pockets.

“What're you up to?” he asked, as he started rolling up a filter and fixing a joint. Gerard flipped his sketchbook around to show Frank the various little zombies he'd drawn. “Buttons.”

Frank looked up from his rolling project and looked at the drawings. He smiled and looked quickly up at Gerard's face, then back to the sketches. He nodded approvingly.

“Sweet! I need some new pins for my vest. I lost my Antiflag one at the last show, I think.”

Gerard fought a smile. “You're gonna wear your own merch?”

Frank had his full concentration on the spliff; he stuck his tounge out and licked the paper, then rolled it carefully shut. He put the filter end between his lips and dug around in his pocket. “Hell yeah, you know it,” he said, voice coming out a little muffled because he was talking out the side of his mouth. Gerard flipped his sketchbook back around, and heard the flick of Frank's lighter, and then the smell of weed and tobacco slowly started filling the car. “Your artwork is dope as hell, why wouldn't I wanna wear it?”

Gerard blamed the stupid heatwave for the burning he felt in his cheeks. He smiled and motioned for Frank to hand over the joint. Frank leaned forward and passed it over. “Can you put on the Smiths?”

Gerard held the smoke in his mouth and shook his head. “No,” he breathed out. “I'm king of the stereo for once, now that everyone's out. I'm enjoying South of Heaven while I can.”

Frank scrunched his face into an angry pout. He eyed the joint that Gerard was lifting to his mouth again.

“I'll never share my weed with you again,” Frank said.

Gerard took a generous drag, just to make a point, while he stared defiantly over at Frank. “Oh, so you've moved on from threatening me to black mailing. That's cool.” Since Gerard was such a nice guy, he leaned over and held out the joint for Frank to take, even when he was being bullied. The puff-puff-pass rule was above the law and hurt feelings. Gerard wasn't worried, though. Frank could just fucking _try_ to hoard the weed. He'd get bored of smoking alone eventually. Or Gerard would find his stash first. Frank took the joint, and leaned back against the side of the car, looking thoughtful.

“Nobody said anything about that,” Frank blew a stream of smoke calmly in Gerard's direction. “I can still beat your ass if you're not nice to me.”

Gerard giggled a little. “I'm always nice to you, Frankie,” he drawled in a dramatic tone, fluttering his eyelashes.

“No, you steal my food,” Frank pointed out.

Gerard just kept blinking innocently. “And you spare me because of my good looks and my impeccable music taste.”

Frank shook his head. “None of those will save you anymore. Put on the Smiths, or else.” He was totally trying not to smile, the way he was closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows. Gerard knew that look.

“I'll let you share my earbuds tomorrow on the road,” he proposed, as a peace offering. A truce.

Frank narrowed his eyes, considering it. Gerard knew his earbuds had died in a tragic laundromat-related incident back in Saint-Louis. “Fine,” he said eventually. Gerard knew he would give in.

Then he almost surprised himself by saying, “I can turn down the volume a little, though, if you want?”

Frank smiled and shook his head again, leaning forward to hand the joint back to Gerard. “Nah.”

Gerard accepted the joint, and thought maybe he would consider putting on the Smiths after this album was finished.

They traded the weed back and forth, and Gerard felt himself sinking more and more into the side of the van. Frank was talking about something but Gerard had fallen a little bit out of it after he felt the high kick in, and he didn't bother tuning back in. He was completely content just lying flat in the back of the van and letting electric guitars fill his head, and watching the movements of Frank's mouth.

Suddenly he became aware that Frank had stopped talking, and was just looking over at him with heavy lidded eyes. His mouth felt dry, and he stuck his tongue out to lick his lips. Frank followed the movement with his eyes, then they darted back up. Frank looked like he was thinking something.

“What,” Gerard said softly. He felt so fucking good. The weed Frank had gotten was _awesome_. Frank half smiled to himself and turned his head to the side, looking away. He looked contemplative. He sighed, making a low, little humming sound in the back of his throat at the end of the exhale.

“We should make out,” Frank said. Gerard blinked.

“What?” he squeaked. He looked at Frank, who turned his head back towards him, grinning lazily.

“We should make out,” he said again, matter-of-factly. So Gerard hadn't misheard him. He had absolutely no clue how to react. He was kind of stunned by the way Frank had so easily just stated it out loud. He giggled nervously, blaming it on the weed.

“Why?”

Frank stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. “Because,” he said slowly, “There's nothing _else_ to do around here. Plus, stoned making out is awesome.” Those were two really valid points. Stoned making out _was_ awesome. And Gerard really wouldn't mind doing it with Frank, either.

“Wouldn't it be funny?” Frank asked, and Gerard wasn't really sure what the fuck he was trying to say here. He wouldn't typically classify the concept of kissing Frank as “funny”. Maybe he was too high to process anything, but he was definitely very confused.

“Uh. I dunno, maybe?” he answered brilliantly.

Frank pushed his ass off of the floor, and crawled on his knees across the small space, and he put a hand on Gerard's thigh, steadying himself as he sat down next to him. He looked at Gerard with a grin, then his face turned serious, and he leaned in without saying another word. Gerard felt a hand at the back of his neck, and then Frank's lips were on his, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. It was so fucking hot in the car, even though all the windows were still open, fucking dammit, and he was sweating, and Frank's lips were moving against his, and he could feel the tiny metal ring in Frank's lip slide against his mouth, and oh god.

He wasn't sure when he started kissing back, but he realised he needed more of Frank's fucking mouth, so he slid sideways and pressed closer, fumbling blindly until he got a hand on Frank's shoulder. The hand on the back of his neck slid up into his hair, and _fuck_ yeah, fisted loosely in his hair, holding him there as Frank licked into his open mouth.

Frank broke the kiss to giggle, pressing his cheek ungracefully against Gerard's chin. “Gerard,” he said between giggles. “You never told me you were fucking good at this. What the fuck.”

“Uh,” Gerard said, definitely feeling like this might be a very strange and vivid dream. Frank's breath was tickling his neck, coming in short bursts as he laughed. “Am I?”

Frank snorted, and pulled jokingly at his hair. “Uh, _duh_. Yeah. You totally are.”

Gerard giggled, pushing on Frank's shoulder to get him to move his head back up, so Gerard could find his mouth again. “I don't think I've kissed anyone with a lip piercing before,” Gerard heard himself say. “ That was cool.” Frank lifted his head to look at him, a mischievous smirk playing over his face. “I thought you weren't into piercings?” ha teased.

“No, no, I don't mind it on other people,” Gerard explained, even though he knew he had explained it a thousand times. “I just don't want needles anywhere near me, personally.” Frank just laughed at him and shook his head. “So you don't want me to pierce your lip for you? I could do it.”

Gerard slapped lightly at the side of Frank's head. “ _No!_ The closest I'll ever get to a lip piercing is when _your_ lip ring is touching my mouth.” Gerard had to be out of his damn mind, or maybe it was the weed. He was totally _flirting_ , unabashedly, and it was _easy_. He was so comfortable in the back of the van, all loose and spacey and sprawled on top of sleeping bags and half folded Pencey Prep shirts.

And Frank was totally flirting back.

“Oh, so you're okay with _that_ ,” he said, leaning in again and looking intently down at Gerard's mouth. “Yeah,” Gerard breathed.

“Well, in that case,” Frank said, and then Gerard was confused because Frank was moving away, but then he swung a leg across Gerard's thighs, and then he was sitting square in Gerard's lap and gripping the sides of his face with both hands, latching his lips onto Gerard's. Gerard put his hands on Frank's back, sliding them down to his waist and gripping his hips. Sighing into the kiss, he squeezed the soft, fleshy part above Frank's hipbones through his shirt. He was starting to notice that his body was _really_ on board with the way Frank started to move against him, not quite grinding, but definitely pressing his chest against him and sliding his hands back into his hair. The hand fisted in the hair on the back of Gerard's neck made him fucking shiver, and he panted a little into Frank's mouth. He was sweating so much, and he could feel how damp Frank's t-shirt was too, sticking to his back.

This was a really good idea, Gerard thought. Frank had the best ideas.Well, not all the time, most of the time his ideas were horrible and would most likely lead to them getting killed or arrested, but sometimes he showed little glimpses of clarity. Like now. This was the best idea he'd had in a while.

Gerard pulled him closer, and tilted his head to properly suck on his lip. He tounged gently at his lip ring, feeling the hard metal clink against his teeth slightly, and he could feel how Frank just _thrummed_ against him, tightening his hands in his hair and breathing hard. Kissing Frank was seriously awesome, Gerard felt all of Frank's touches and pulls at his hair like little electrical zaps, cranking the dial and making everything feel so fucking _intense_ . Stoned making out was the _best_. But with the firm weight of Frank pressing him down into the floor and their lips starting to slide more sloppy and uncontrolled against each other, it was starting to feel like not enough. Gerard was ready to kick it up a notch.

He gripped Frank's hips harder, pressing his fingers into his shirt and trying to see if he could tilt his hips up a little bit. Frank was straddling him, and he was lying at a slighly odd angle, so it was kind of hard, and he ended up just making frustrated noises, that were muffled against Frank's lips. He felt like he couldn't tell you which way was up and which was down, he was so out of it, but he was really in tune with the heat rushing under his skin down to his dick.

He slid his hands down to Frank's ass, gripping it through his ratty jeans, and pulled him in as he tried to inch his hips up again. He did a slightly better job this time, because fuck yeah, he got some firm pressure against the front of his jeans that felt fucking amazing, and then he realised that the firmness was Frank's hard-on, that he was pressing down into Gerard's lap in slow rocking motions. Frank was still kissing the shit out of him, not letting up on his hair and just holding him against his lips, at the same time as he was starting to move into what could be called proper dry-humping territory. Except it wasn't dry, they were both sweating like crazy, their shirts damp where they were pressed together, and Gerard really must have gone insane because he moved his head to get his lips free, just so he could huff out, “Frank. Take your fucking shirt off.”

Frank obeyed right away, sitting back on Gerard's thighs and pulling his shirt inside out over his head. He was shiny with sweat, and Gerard just had to lean forward to lick at his throat, over his scorpion, because jesus fucking christ. Frank let out a breathy laugh, leaning into Gerard's mouth. Then hands were pulling at the hem of Gerard's shirt, and yeah, he was so fucking ready to get it off, and he lifted his arms and let Frank pull his shirt off of him. He didn't even fucking care that Frank would see his stomach and his weird nipples, he just watched as Frank flung his disgusting shirt somwehere to the side, and then he leaned back in, and Gerard met his lips eagerly. Now they were skin to skin, and fuck _yeah_ that was awesome. Frank's hands were on his sides, sliding over his skin and leaving this nice tingly feeling in their wake, and Gerard just could _not_. He fumbled his hands to the front of Frank's jeans and got his fingers working on the buttons on his fly. Frank sighed against his mouth.

“Ah, yeah. Gerard. Fuck yeah. Please.”

Somehow they had slid down so Gerard was mostly lying down, just propped up on something that was vaguely hard and jabbing into his back, but he didn't give a shit. He hadn't even noticed until he saw Frank's shaggy mohawk hanging off his face above him, and noticed one of Frank's hands had slid off his waist to prop himself up on the floor of the van. He put his hand inside Frank's jeans, and then he heard a high pitched weed giggle that he realised was coming from himself, because Frank wasn't wearing underwear.

“Mm, fuck yeah,” Frank breathed, his eyes closed and face slack.

“Yeah,” Gerard echoed, looking up at Frank's fluttering eyelashes. How the fuck was this his life?

“Frankie,” he breathed, and Frank's eyes fluttered open for a second, and then he furrowed his brows as Gerard shifted his grip on his dick.

“Fuck,” Frank said, and shivered, and Gerard sped up his hand a little. A long groan leaked out of Frank's mouth, and Gerard got his free hand around his neck and pulled him down, he wanted to catch all of Frank's fucking incredible sounds in his mouth. He pressed his hips up against Frank's ass, rutting against him as best as he could, and it felt seriously awesome. South of Heaven had ended at some point, and their harsh breathing was really loud in the absense of background noise, but Gerard didn't for a second want to stop what was happening to go change it. The way Frank was moving his hips into his hand and over his dick was so fucking good; half dead from a heatwave and in the back of a piece-of-shit van or not, Gerard was totally about to come in his pants.

Frank kissed him really sloppily, barely doing more than just holding his mouth open and moaning, and letting Gerard lick at his lips.

“ _Gee_ , I'm –” Frank was starting to lose his rhytm a little, getting more frantic, and Gerard was _on fire_. He really fucking wanted to see Frank lose it.

“Yeah, Frankie, come on,” he breathed against Frank's open mouth, and tightened his grip on his dick, and Frank just curled into him, shaking and pressing his face into Gerard's neck, and coming all over Gerard's hand.

Gerard took his hand off Frank's dick the moment he collapsed on top of him, and he took the opportunity to grab Frank's ass with both hands and hold him just where he wanted him, pressing his dick up into the fucking perfect, sweaty, firm pressure. Frank just lay heavily on him, and started mouthing at his neck, breathing hot over his skin, and Gerard just could not. He threw his head back and let out a long moan. He held onto Frank's ass with a vice-like grip as he felt the warmth crash over him, cursing and groaning and coming hot inside his jeans. He held Frank pressed against him so he could ride it out, his whole body was buzzing, Frank's sweaty chest slid damply against his own, and Frank's weight was pressing his back into the floor, and the weed was making him feel heavy and so fucking good. Fucking _perfect_.

“Fucking _christ_ ,” Frank panted, his face still pressed into Gerard's neck, and Gerard couldn't agree more. Frank rolled off of him, onto his back on the floor next to him, and threw an arm over his face.

“So fucking hot, Gee.”

Gerard had to just breathe for a minute. “Yeah,” he huffed out eventually. “Best idea you've ever had.”

Frank giggled next to him. Gerard tilted his head, and caught Frank grinning over at him. Frank shifted a little and started tucking his dick back into his pants, zipping and buttoning up the fly.

“Told you stoned making out was awesome.”

Gerard laughed at him.

It was later, when Gerard had put his shirt back on, put another CD in the player, and was following Frank out of the car to sit and eat pop tarts in the shade under the trees, that he noticed the unmistakable, pale stain on the back of Frank's jeans. He burst out laughing as he realised he must have smeared the come he'd gotten on his hand on Frank's back pocket. Frank sat down on the grass on the curb, looking up at him. “What's so funny?”

“I uh, I think I got some spunk on your jeans,” Gerard said. Frank looked down at himself. “Where.”

Gerard grinned, he felt kind of giddy, and the high was still making his dopey giggle spill out easier than usual. “On your ass.”

Frank twisted around to try to see, but it was no use. He gave up and rubbed his ass firmly into the grass. “Whatever, I've had worse things on my clothes.” Gerard knew this to be true. Frank patted the grass next to him, and Gerard sat down. Frank handed him an apple-cinnamon pop tart, which he accepted gratefully.

Frank still had his shirt off, and Gerard stole little glances over at him as he ate his pop tart.

“You wanna go out and hunt for beer tonight?” Frank asked, leaning back and sticking his hand into his pocket. “I think I saw a gas station a couple miles back.”

Gerard smiled and nodded, holding out his hand for Frank to give him a cigarette from his wrinkly pack that he pulled out of his jeans.

“Yeah, I'm down.”

*

They were in Chicago. Frank came out to the merch booth as a slow stream of sweaty show goers were starting to seep out from the venue. Gerard was chatting with greasy punks about the show, about the t-shirt designs and fabric paint, and the fucking sunlight melting down on them. He had his sunglasses on, and through the brown lenses he saw Frank moving through the crowd and sliding in close to him behind the table. Frank threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning and hugging him close.

“Best show ever,” he breathed into Gerard's ear, and Gerard grinned, wrapping an arm around Frank's back and ruffling his sweaty hair with the other.

“I'm just glad you didn't _kill_ anyone up there,” Gerard laughed. “You do know you're allowed to take it easy sometimes, right? You don't need to climb onto the drum set and attack your bandmates with your instrument _every time_.”

Frank released him from his grip and moved to the other side of the booth, opening up a box of t-shirts that they'd finished heat-setting last night. “No can do, my dude,” he said, waving a hand in Gerard's general direction. He turned towards the people standing on the other side of the table, waiting to buy merch. “'Sup, what can I do ya for?”

Gerard fucking loved touring.


End file.
